


Underworld Romance Thing

by fresne



Series: Romance Thing [2]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles, battle raging son of gentle Thetis, with his straight spear. Penthesilea, the great-hearted daughter of man-slaying Ares, with her curving axe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underworld Romance Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Battlefield Romance Thing" in 2009 yuletide.
> 
>  
> 
> [podfic](http://audiofic.jinjurly.com/battlefield-romance-thing-underworld-romance-thing)
> 
> The following inspiration for this work and inspiration for my dialogue, where I am not directly quoting, because apt quotes are cool:
> 
> Can't say as I remember quoting, but if I did and I haven't attributed, let me know and I'll add it.

It was one of those underworld undead romance things. Penthesilea, the great-hearted daughter of man-slaying Ares, with her curving axe came first to the Elysian fields. A gray dull place. Full of grey dull souls. She wadded through them like the water ragging down the trash filled river Styx for kicks. She walked through them like smoke. Like the curling smoke of the red-eyed girl's cigarettes in the place where Tartarus breaks.

It wasn't her thing there, so she left there. She left her mark on a thousand heroes' hearts. She smiled. She flirted. She ripped them out.

Achilles, battle raging son of Thetis, with his straight spear came second to the rolling meadows of asphodel. A flat boring place. Full of flat bat boring souls. He stomped through them like the fire that crackles the weeds by the flotsam river Phlegethon for fun. He blew through them like the clarion call of the alarm that screams each night at 1:05 am.

It wasn't his thing there, so he left there. He left his jap on a thousand heroic lips. He smiled. He danced. He bowled them all down.

They met in the middle. The lovers. The fighters. The grinners of blood. She laughed to see him and swung him her axe for a kiss. He bent back to her embrace. He bent and he thrust with his long bladed spear. They danced there. They jived there. Stabbed and sliced there. They bled there and they died a few times there. But what the hell, they were already dead.

She didn't love him because he'd pricked her. That would be sapless. She was full of sap. Actually, she wasn't. She'd never been turned into a tree or reed to escape.

He didn't love her because she'd sliced him. That would be emo. He was not emo. Actually, he was. Quite a lot. Sulking in his tent when he didn't get his way. Till she coaxed him. Till she cleaved him. Till she started her walk on her way, away then. Other lands to discover and she had no time for all the time in the world.

Wandered they did. Running and jumping and laughing and doing their thing. Their underworld undead romance thing.

Like a girl he was, pretty as a red headed girl, who smiled and held her heart dear as they spun through the fluttering, "oh, dear not again" now, moth eaten dead. Like a boy she was, handsome as a black-eyed boy, who smiled and gave as he got through meadows and fields and Tartarus pits.

All around them, the dead did their suffering mutilation thing. Till they saw them dancing away. Tantalus stopped his clutch for martini, no olives to be had. Sisyphus stilled his elliptical aerobic climb. Virgil paused and asked for directions. Dante swooned, as was ever his way. But he peeked through one eye and scribbled some lines. Until finally, Hades was heard to say, "Oh, get a room," while Persephone giggled and Cerberus howled (they'd paused his game of catch).

Still they jumped and they leaped. Wandered and fought. More than one underworld to set in confuse.

Until finally, the demons. The angels. The messengers. The torturing tools was heard to say, "Uh, the hell?" So, they descended, they did. Descended and rose and it was a party for all.

So she looked at him, her lover, her spear wielding fire. So he looked at her, his lover, his axe wielding flood.

She whispered and she winked, a twirl of her axe. "I'll take the left."

"And I'll take the right." He whispered back with a flick of his answering blade.

Which was how the lovers, the dancing battlefield lovers, found a new game for their underworld undead romance thing. It's good to keep the romance alive when you're dead.

**Author's Note:**

> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


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